Let it Happen
by cedari
Summary: Survival was Hermione's only driving force now, by any means necessary.' HDr. A short, odd ficlet.


**Let it happen**

**By Cedar1**

A/N Random Drabble due to being in a rather random mood that's my only reason for this rather odd fic.

**Disclaimer:** Nothing of the Harry Potter universe belongs to me all of it is the property of JK Rowling. I just own a rather thin plot.

**Let it happen**

Green and red light flash upon their faces. One streak across hers, one streak across his, two streaks at the same time and then a scream that marks the beginning of yet another pause. The same cycle repeats itself again and again. The war is going round in circles around them and yet they still don't move. The room is small, there's not much to look at apart from each other. So that's what they do. That's what they've been doing for the last three hours. They stare hard into each other's eyes trying to discover their opposite's secrets, their weakness, their way out of here.

She's parched. They haven't let her have a drink since yesterday. Her lips are dry and cracked, and they feel sore to the touch. She sticks her tongue out to lick thick, saliva across her painful flesh. For the first time today his gaze leaves her eyes and is focussed on her mouth. The shift doesn't evade her notice, indeed she revels in it. Perhaps this is her escape. Trying her best to make it look natural she brings one knee up to her chest, the immediate effect of which is to reveal an expanse of mud streaked calf and thigh from underneath her tatty robes. Again his cold, gun metal grey eyes are diverted. She can practically feel their caress as they coolly appraise her. Having tested the water her next move is anything but subtle, she parts her legs affording him a view of her underwear, and even he smirks at her audacity. The past Hermione would never have considered being so brazen, it would have gone against all those middle-class morals her parents had drilled into her from the age of nought. However war had the overwhelming ability to change those parts of you that you thought could never be changed. Voicing her first Avada Kedavra had disintegrated any strands of moral fibre within her body. Survival was her only driving force now, by any means necessary. She deliberately drags her right hand along her naked flesh, fingertips ever so slightly grazing her skin, trailing up and down following the natural curves of her leg.

He watches as her hand wanders, getting closer to the boundary of her knickers, closer to the part of her that had there never been a war would never have been displayed in front of him. He has to give her credit she is playing the role well. He can feel the muscles in his jaw start to tighten and contract. In the dark, in a time of utter misery and death Draco had to concede that Hermione Granger actually looked attractive. She suddenly gets up and in one smooth motion lifts the dirt ridden robe over her head. She has the uncanny ability of noticing things others wouldn't, a twitch here a twitch there. Despite himself his breathing quickens as she settles herself on his lap.

Her large brown eyes are staring straight at him. It surprises him, but he tries not to show her and stares straight back at her. They find each other at a stalemate.

She had hoped he would make this easier, that she wouldn't have to make the first move but with his arms hanging determinately at his side she knows she has no choice. She raises one eyebrow at him and gives him a glimmer of a smile before pushing her hips against his.

The cold touch of his hand on her thigh gives her a shock. It sparks a shiver to travel straight up her back, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up to attention. It starts of light but the pressure of his fingers increase with the increasing circular motions of his hand. She can feel herself melting, moulding into his assured hands. Her eyelids flutter at the warm sensations filling her insides. Then she catches it. His smile, the confidence within those lips. It brings her crashing back into the shitty, cramped cell she is prisoner in, the person whose lap she is straddling and she immediately sobers. All the heat within her dissipates. She has a job to do.

She pushes herself against him once again, her body made flush with his, and he moans. His hands slowly crawl up her sides, cupping her breasts on the way. He cradles her face and as he pulls her towards him she is fully prepared for his mouth to land on hers but is slightly confused when he harshly turns her head. The quick action pulls her muscles in her neck tight and taut, tittering on that line before sharp, long lasting pain. She can feel his light breath on her ear, and perhaps for the first time she thinks that this may not have been such a good plan.

"You'll only ever be a dirty, useless mudblood to me."

He throws the girl off his lap and takes pleasure in the noise her soft flesh makes with the stone ground.

"Now put your robe on."

The order, the tone of his voice makes Hermione want to just sit there naked in front of him but there's something threatening in his eyes that makes her reach for her clothing. She would be no help to Harry or Ron if she was dead. But for her own dignity, she doesn't rush it. She stands up and in an exaggerated manner dusts the robe down, before slipping it over her head. When she finally turns round to face him she is slightly disconcerted to see him smiling at her.

"I had to try."

The smile disappears and he simply nods at her. They find themselves back to where they started, staring at each other. However something has changed, fuck if Hermione can describe it but she notes it and stores it in her ever working brain.

A knock on the door, Crabbe walks in.

"Malfoy."

Hermione watches as the two men swap positions and without even a final look Malfoy leaves. And for some reason she knows he won't stop what he knows is going to happen

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

He's half way down the corridor when he stops and then he begins to run back. He's panting when he reaches the door. He braces himself against the metalwork as he peers through the minute peep hole. There she is, on top of Crabbe, dirty legs straddled over his black robes, smiling sweetly at him. Draco's fingers are already wrapped around his wand and his right hand latched around the door handle. Then she looks up and he swears she is staring directly at him. Her eyes are sparkling with success and she directs a smirk straight at him. And he knows that for some reason he will let it happen.

Let her escape. Let her play hero. It will all come crashing down at her feet anyway.

And he walks back to the Dark Lord.

**Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo The End ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO**

a/n Not sure what the point of this is, oh well. Thought i would just share the randomness. Reviews as always are welcome

Luv Cedar1


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